


Some Call Her Pasvoa

by nightingaelic



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Breaking Up & Making Up, Distrust, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fame vs Infamy, Slow Burn, Smuggling, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightingaelic/pseuds/nightingaelic
Summary: Reyes Vidal wants to know more about the mysterious woman who replaced her father as Pathfinder. Miri Ryder wants a chance to breathe and contemplate the enormous responsibilities her dad left her with, unbidden. Together, they strive to escape the Heleus Cluster's scrutiny, if only for a few moments, and find a quiet haven at the center of the brand-new galaxy.
Relationships: Female Ryder | Sara & Reyes Vidal, Female Ryder | Sara/Reyes Vidal, Reyes Vidal/Original Female Character(s), Ryder/Reyes Vidal
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Reyes

He strolled into Kralla’s Song an hour early, like he always did when he was meeting someone for business. The happy hour crowd was starting to turn up and he did his best to blend in with an arriving freighter crew, but Umi still managed to spot him and shoot him a scowl that indicated she planned to collect his outstanding bar tab someday. 

Undaunted, he flashed her his most charming grin and faded back against the wall, settling into an inconspicuous corner that afforded a full view of the bar. There were a few krogan mercenaries knocking back drinks on the far left, starting to reach the noise threshold where they would earn some dirty looks. A salarian recruiter was talking up an asari arrival on the right, eagerly explaining the pros of joining the Collective and ignoring suspicious glances from a group of Sloane’s lackeys around a nearby table. 

A number of women wandered in after he did, some of them human, and he watched each one carefully. He ruled them all out after a minute or two of observation. Outcast tattoos and concealed weapons. A merchant celebrating her first birthday out of cryo with colleagues. Familiar faces he’d seen around the port. The hour ticked by, and he stifled a yawn. 

Evfra’s email had been clear that he was to meet the human Pathfinder, to use his code name and to give her nothing more than the facts necessary for her mission, but it had been strangely devoid of descriptive information regarding the Nexus’ new golden child. _You will know her when you see her,_ the message had read. He’d snorted at that. Every other day, he heard some angara on the docks muttering about not being able to tell humans apart from each other. 

The woman he was waiting for walked in three minutes before the appointed time, and any doubts he’d had about Evfra’s judgment fell away. The Pathfinder stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. She looked like she had tried to dress down for the occasion and fly under the radar, but her choice in clothing marked her immediately as an outsider on Kadara. Over her gray-and-black Initiative casuals she had on a worn leather jacket, real cowhide stained a rich mahogany color. Back in the Milky Way it would have been a stylish planetside conversation-starter. Here in Andromeda, it was practically priceless. 

As if her fashion choices weren’t enough, she had a messy bob haircut that had been dyed the color of a bloody sunset. Altogether, her ensemble made the eyes of nearly everyone in the bar flicker toward her, if only for an instant. 

“Why would you want your fringe that color?” a nearby turian remarked to his friend. The salarian shrugged and took another sip of his Quad Kicker martini. 

The Pathfinder approached the empty end of the bar, her own eyes flitting around the room as she did. He stayed where he was, curious about whether or not she would try to approach anyone. 

Instead, the rowdy group of krogan drew her attention as they slapped each others’ humps enthusiastically and got up to leave. They caught Umi’s attention, also. “Hey!” the asari bartender said loudly. 

One of the krogan, a young merc with a shiny set of blue-and-yellow armor, waved a dismissive hand at her. “Piss off.” 

Umi drew herself up to her full height. “You order, you _pay.”_

The krogan rounded on her. “I _said-”_

He shut up quickly when Umi pulled a combat knife from her boot and stuck it in the counter. A glance of his beady yellow eye confirmed that the entire bar was watching, and he grumbled something and pulled up his omni-tool to transfer the credits he owed. Reyes took advantage of the awkward lowered gazes and restart of conversations to saunter over to the Pathfinder. 

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” he said knowingly. 

She crossed her arms and leaned back on the bar, looking him up and down. Aside from raising her eyebrows, she said nothing. 

Reyes caught Umi’s eye and tilted his head toward the space between them. The bartender scowled and slammed two stainless steel glasses of beer on the counter. He picked one up and offered it to the newcomer. 

For a second, he wasn’t sure she was going to accept. She studied the cup and him thoroughly, then sighed and took the beer. “Fine. I’ve got time for a drink.” 

He held his glass up and she tapped it half-heartedly with hers before taking a gulp. Up close, he could see that her jacket was a couple sizes too big on her, most likely cut for a man to wear. Its bulkiness had probably earned her a search from the Outcast port control, always on the lookout for anything that might conceal a weapon. The rumpled, gray scarf she was wearing underneath it certainly looked like it had been taken off and re-twisted hastily. 

Reyes smiled and set his drink down. “Shena. But you can call me Reyes. I hate code names.” 

That earned him another raise of her eyebrows, but she shook his extended hand hesitantly. “I was expecting someone more… angaran.” 

He chuckled. “The Resistance pays me to supply information. Among other things.” 

The corner of her lip curled up at that. “So you’re a smuggler. Figures.” 

He bobbed his head from side to side noncommittally and took another swig of his beer. A spaceship crew made their way up to the bar on his other side, and while Umi busied herself pouring drinks, he jerked his head toward the bar’s window and led the Pathfinder out of earshot. 

She listened carefully while he told her about Vehn Terev, the prisoner with the information she was after. Outside the bar a sunset was blooming, but it was mild and yellow compared to the fiery hues that fell around the Pathfinder’s face. Even if she stuck out in Kralla’s Song, she fit in against the panorama of the mountain that it sat atop, perfectly at home among the open-air corals and calcifications. When he told her about the angaran fugitive's death sentence, she nodded solemnly. 

“The people are calling for his execution,” he explained. “And Sloane… she’s a woman of the people.” 

“I like her already,” she remarked. 

“Well…” he leaned over conspiratorially. _“She_ doesn’t like _you.”_

“She’s never met me.” 

He shrugged. “You work for the Initiative. Sloane was part of the uprising on the Nexus. I doubt she’ll give Vehn up easily.” 

The Pathfinder took a deep breath and straightened up. “I’m taking him. With or without her permission.” 

She sounded more resigned than confident, and Reyes began to seriously doubt whether she had the skills or the spine to pull off what she was trying to do. He smiled anyway. “We’re going to be friends, you and I.” 

The Pathfinder gave him something between a smile and grimace in return. She looked so thoroughly ill at ease that he took pity on her. “There might be another way to get to Vehn,” he offered. “You work Sloane, I’ll talk to the Resistance.” 

She nodded, and he gave her a gesture of encouragement before walking away. He was halfway across the bar when he heard her call after him. “Wait! How do I contact you if things go south?” 

He turned back. In front of the window ledge, framed by the setting sun, she looked like she was standing on a line between two worlds, bridging the gap from the wilderness outside to the people within. 

He winked, then turned around and kept walking. The last thing he heard before he left the bar was Umi pestering the Pathfinder about payment for the beers. 

* * *

Keema met him later on a city balcony, just as the night sky was beginning to glitter above. She shook her head when he asked about the Pathfinder. 

“She came to see our fearless leader, all right,” the angara said, rolling her eyes. “Stars, it was like watching two galorn smashing their heads together. They couldn’t even get through introductions without baring their teeth.” 

“I wasn’t even sure she had teeth to bare,” Reyes replied, surprised. 

“We are talking about the same Pathfinder, right?” Keema asked, giving him a skeptical look. “The one who’s activating monoliths and vaults across the cluster and restoring planets practically overnight? The one who flew through the Scourge to get to Aya? The one who emptied the kett facility on Voeld of my imprisoned brothers and sisters and saved the Moshae?” 

He frowned. “I thought that was Pathfinder Ryder.” 

“She _is_ Pathfinder Ryder.” 

Reyes sighed. “The dead man, Pathfinder Alec Ryder? Former Alliance military elite and inventor of the AI that got us to this galaxy? Honestly, Keema, I know we humans all look alike to the angara, but I expected better of you.” 

Keema smiled and her wide eyes sparkled with mirth. “I’m sorry to tell you you’re misinformed, Reyes Vidal. Yes, I know Pathfinder Alec Ryder is dead. This Pathfinder is his daughter.” 

“His…” Reyes shook his head. “That’s not how that works. The Pathfinder has a secondary that they train, and when they die, the title and the AI are passed to them. I know Ryder had one, a Herrera or a Hudson or something: You’re sure that wasn’t her? ‘Pathfinder’ isn’t a family title.” 

Keema shrugged. “Apparently it is now. She calls herself Pathfinder Ryder, and she and Sloane Kelly did not part on good terms. She even called Sloane ‘your highness’ and gave her a bit of a sarcastic curtsy on her way out the door.” 

Reyes leaned on the balcony railing and stroked his chin. “No, there’s probably no coming back from that. I assume you can help.” 

“Of course. You know that maintenance access terminal, back behind the merchant stalls outside headquarters? Tell her to type this in, if she still wants to get to Vehn.” Keema pulled out a datapad and rattled off a code for him, which he diligently recorded in his omni-tool. 

“You’ll still need something to get past the cell door, if you’re planning a breakout,” she warned him. 

He nodded. “I have something in mind already. I owe you a favor, Keema.” 

She laughed. “Consider us even. It’s not often I get to relish knowing something that you don’t.” 

“You know plenty of things that I don’t,” Reyes retorted with a grin. 

“Nothing so interesting as that.” 

Keema turned to leave, but he stopped her before she could. “Wait. Pathfinder Ryder. What’s her name?” 

She looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t ask her?” 

“It wasn’t important.” 

“And it is now?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Stars.” Keema shook her head. “Her name is Miri. Miri Ryder.” 

* * *

Pathfinder Miri Ryder was hanging around the Kadara Port docks the next morning, stretching her limbs and helping her crew load crates onto her ship. It was an impressive model, built for speed and surveillance, and more than a few dock hands had looks of envy and longing on their faces as they passed it. 

Reyes watched the crew of the Tempest pack away their newly-purchased shipment of supplies, taking mental notes on the ship’s crew members. They were a mixed bunch, but they seemed to work well together. More importantly, they all seemed to get along with their leader, who was cracking jokes and lifting with her knees as well as any of the others. No leather jacket today, just Initiative casuals and a hoodie thrown over the top. 

Eventually, he stopped studying the crew and just watched her. Yesterday, he’d assumed she was an Initiative flunky, a trained, by-the-book servant that answered to Tann and the others aboard the Nexus. Today, she was an unknown quantity. 

When the crates had disappeared and the ship was closed up, the Pathfinder cracked her neck and headed down the main corridor of docks with a female turian and a woman with a blonde undercut following in her wake. Reyes trailed them from afar, watching as the blonde came to a stop outside the door of a rented garage. She took up a guard position and began eyeing the port visitors suspiciously, but he avoided her gaze and headed on. 

Eventually, the turian stopped Ryder in front of a docked freighter. “You’re sure you’re okay out here by yourself?” she asked, the two tones of her voice betraying a hint of concern. 

Ryder smiled. “Vetra, I’ve fought off fiends and outrun poison gas clouds. I can handle a pirate port.” 

Vetra adjusted her visor. “Maybe don’t call it a pirate port, if you wind up talking to anyone. No need to piss off any _more_ of the locals.” 

Ryder shook her head and grinned, and the two parted ways. While the turian kept going down the docks, the Pathfinder hung a left and headed inward, toward the main square and the marketplace. 

Reyes smiled and ducked down a side alley, weaving his way through crates, water pipes and hanging laundry lines until he came out ahead of her general trajectory. As soon as she was within sight again, he leaned casually against a pillar and raised an arm to flag her down. “Pathfinder! Over here.” 

Her vibrant hair whipped around as she turned her head toward him, and her eyes narrowed. She walked over, but any trace of her friendly side from the docks was gone. 

“Have a nice chat with Sloane?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Miri Ryder put a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side. “I think she likes me,” she said flatly. 

Reyes chuckled at that. “Don’t worry. I found a workaround.” 

She sighed and crossed her arms. “Let me guess. It comes with strings attached.” 

“Not any _new_ ones.” Reyes pulled the access code up on his omni-tool. “Evfra wants Vehn alive, so when you get inside, give him this.” 

He handed her the vial of concentrated wraith acid venom that Kian had sold to him for a small fortune in Tartarus the night before. She took it and examined the contents. “Inside…” 

“Sloane’s prison cells. That’ll eat through whatever she’s holding him in, and it can’t be traced back to us. A Resistance agent will be waiting to pick Vehn up.” 

Her expression hardened and she stuffed the vial inside her hoodie pocket. “Vehn’s intel better be worth it.” 

“You’ll be the judge of that, not me.” Reyes pulled up his omni-tool and synced it with hers, transferring a map of the city and Keema’s access code to her through a secure proximity channel. “There’s a maintenance shaft around the back of her compound. I’ll set you a navpoint, and the codes should get you inside. You should be able to handle the rest.” 

Ryder’s fingers fluttered against her hip. “There’s still the matter of the bill you left me with.” 

He turned up the sheepish charm. “I’m usually the model gentleman.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Because I’m lying.” He shrugged, and an idea struck him. “When you’re done, come to Tartarus. First round’s on me, I promise.” 

“Uh-huh.” She gave him one last look of distrust and turned to go. 

“It’s Miri, right?” 

That got her attention. She froze in place, her back to him. 

“Might want to stick that acid somewhere else, Miri. You may have to crawl through some ventilation shafts.”


	2. Ryder

She’d never told him her name, she was certain of it. 

She didn’t know why that bothered her. It wasn’t like her name was a big secret in this galaxy. Hell, she was pretty sure that most of the Nexus had heard the HNS broadcasts by now, and probably half of Voeld and Eos, too.  _ The human Pathfinder has died.  _

While this was probably the talk of the Initiative outposts behind her back, people living outside the Nexus’ control were unconcerned with the news. The angara on Aya hadn’t known she was a last-minute replacement for the man who had actually trained for their first contact conversation. They hadn’t cared. And out here, in the systems on the other side of the black hole, they cared even less about what they perceived as holdover Milky Way politics and useless protocol. 

Still, part of the job she’d inherited was a never-ending string of introductions to those who saw her as an envoy for the aliens that had invited themselves to the Heleus Cluster. After Aya and Havarl, where her very non-angaran appearance marked her as an outsider immediately, she had been looking forward to visiting a port where being human wasn’t an oddity. That was all she’d wanted: To dock somewhere she didn’t feel like an unwanted successor or a freak of nature. 

And yet, the minute she stepped off the Tempest and onto Kadara, she found herself in an entirely different state of discomfort. She might have gotten whispers of confusion and malcontent on the Nexus, but at least she knew how things worked there. The occasional child might stare at her on Aya and be quickly turned away by their guardian, but at least Jaal would laugh and explain to her and her other crew members some of the intricacies of angaran manners, and she would be reminded that she wasn’t the only fish out of water. And here she was now, without a sliver of espionage background or illegitimate business experience to speak of, on a mission to rescue a guilty man from a traitor’s prison in a lawless port. 

_ Would this feeling ever leave?  _ She’d asked herself that over and over, with every step she took until she found herself inside the designated bar.  _ Will it always feel like this? _ It had taken every ounce of her will not to throw the drink the smooth-talking agent in Kralla’s Song had offered her against the nearest wall. 

Yet when that same agent had said her name behind her in the street a day later, after she had unloaded her frustration on Sloane Kelly and blown any shot of getting to the prisoner legitimately, it had given her pause. Maybe it was because no one besides her said it out loud anymore, not even her crew.  _ Pathfinder. Ryder.  _ Never Miri. 

It had eaten at her as she punched the gifted code into an access terminal, twisted in her mind while she navigated the tunnels laid bare, and turned circles while Vehn Terev gave her his sob story about why he betrayed the living idol of his people. In the end, she barely spoke to the angara, and she couldn’t push the acid vial into his hands and leap back into the access tunnels fast enough. It had taken a sharp rebuke from an Outcast guard when she nearly walked into the middle of a crime scene to clear her mind of the mysterious Resistance informant. 

The victim was an angara, lying on his side in a pool of his own blue blood in the alley next to Kralla’s Song. There were stab wounds on his stomach and vicious slices all over his face. SAM informed her that he had been drunk when the attack occurred, and that the disfiguring wounds had been made after he’d died. The guards were jumpy, and one of them muttered something about this being “the seventh,” and someone called the Charlatan. 

Any thoughts of heading to the club in the slums were squashed, and she made a beeline for the Tempest instead. If people were getting stabbed in the street, the more protective members of her crew would likely be concerned about her well-being. Sure enough, Vetra was waiting for her, arms crossed and one claw worriedly tapping an elbow. 

“You heard?” Miri asked. 

“Right outside that bar you were at yesterday,” Vetra replied. “Maybe we should steer clear. Get off this planet as soon as we can. Did you get what we need?” 

“Yep. Some place called Charybdis Point.” 

The turian shook her head. “Out in the badlands? Damn. Well, it’s not happening today, we’re still taking inventory and outfitting upgrades to the Nomad. You don’t need to go anywhere until tomorrow, right? Or I can get Cora to accompany you, put Liam on guard duty instead.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Miri put her hands in her hoodie pockets. “Besides, I need… there’s… I think Director Tann wanted me to write a report. For his records. I’ll be in my cabin.” 

Vetra rolled her eyes. “Bureaucrats. Remind him that I sent our receipts from that restaurant on Aya. Liam and Suvi went a little crazy with the menu last time they were there and we’re supposed to be getting reimbursed for ‘diplomacy-related spending.’” 

Miri smiled. “Good luck explaining that one to him.” 

As she made her way up the ramp into the Tempest, SAM’s private channel activated in her ear. _ Shall I begin drafting an email to Director Tann regarding Evfra’s mission? _

“Sure, SAM.” 

The AI replied half a second later. _ I have added the details of our arrival on Kadara and rendezvous with the Resistance agent. I have also included the subsequent infiltration of the Outcast facility following your conversation with former head of Nexus security Sloane Kelly. I’ve done my best to mimic your writing style, as always, and have thrown in a few favorable anecdotes about crew social dynamics along with Vetra’s reimbursement request. Would you like to review the message before sending it? _

“I trust you, SAM. You can send it.” 

_ Message sent. _ The AI paused.  _ Vetra is unaware that you use me to conduct most of your correspondence with Nexus operations. _

“Yes.” 

_ You lied to her. _

She nodded and glanced over her shoulder before stepping inside the ship. Vetra was flipping through her omni-tool features and eyeing nearby dock workers suspiciously. 

_ Why? _

“I don’t know, SAM. Sometimes I need to.” 

* * *

Once inside her cabin, Miri shucked off her hoodie and sat down at her desk. It was past noon and she’d missed lunch during her excursion, but she didn’t feel like wandering into the galley to see whether Vetra had restocked the shelves. Most of her desk drawers were hiding snacks in them anyway, and she pulled them out one by one to inspect her reserves: A nearly-empty box of BlastOhs, two dry packets of asari honey marinade-flavored ramen, the jar of peanut butter that Gil had given Peebee as a joke when she joined the crew. There was even a tightly-coiled plant stem from some grateful angara suppliers on Voeld that Suvi had packed in a container and labeled  _ Cardacha cthonis, _ despite Liam’s insistence that it should be called “octopus plant.” 

She munched on the dry, chocolaty BlastOhs and looked through her email, disinterested. Most of it was mission-related intel or letters of thanks. Nothing new. She checked for any messages about Vehn Terev’s transfer to the Resistance, but she doubted she would hear anything from Evfra until the shuttle had made planetfall on Aya. 

It struck her, then, that the agent ― Reyes, he’d said his name was ― might have gotten her full name from Evfra in his own email briefing. That had to be it. But then, why had he waited until the next day to greet her as such? Why not call her by name immediately? And why had he sounded so… curious? 

She leaned back in her chair, dropped the empty BlastOhs box in the trash and kicked the drawer shut. It didn’t matter. The Initiative didn’t want her getting stabbed in an alley on a planet of exiles, and her mission for the Resistance was already over. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight. 

_ Pathfinder, your serotonin levels have fallen rather low. Should I call Dr. T’Perro? _

She shook her head. “I’m okay, SAM. I just need rest.” To appease herself as much as the AI, she abandoned the desk in favor of the bed, where she stared at the ceiling while the Kadaran sun sank in the sky. Eventually she drifted off, and was awoken a few hours later by a knock on her cabin door. When she opened it, she was surprised to find Drack and Jaal waiting outside. 

“We’re getting off this ship,” the krogan veteran said by way of greeting. “The angara said he saw someone selling grunnien skewers in the market earlier, and that asari in Kralla’s Song promised me a free drink for each of my stories about taking down Council Spectres. You comin’ Pathfinder?” 

Miri grinned. “Vetra tried to corral you, too?” 

Drack laughed. “She’s been belly-achin’ to the whole crew about that murder, practically pushed me inside when I came back with that gun I was eyeing up yesterday. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that last conversation she had with her sister on the Nexus didn’t go so well, so she’s trying to parent all of us instead. She should know that trying to corral krogan hasn’t gone well, historically speaking.” 

Jaal cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Just to be clear, this was  _ not _ my idea. From what I’ve heard, wandering the streets of Kadara Port after dark should never be done alone.” 

Drack elbowed him affectionately. “Maybe if you aren’t a krogan.” 

“Stay then, Jaal,” Miri offered. “I’ll watch Drack’s back tonight. I could use some more fresh air.” 

Jaal needed no more convincing, and he promptly disappeared into the galley to find his own supper. Miri donned her leather jacket, and together she and Drack lifted some M-3 Phalanxes from the armory and waited until Vetra had gone to check the Nomad’s garage before jogging off together across the docks, laughing with the small exhilaration. 

When they had a few dwellings and shuttle landing pads between them and the Tempest, Drack huffed and turned to her with a gleaming pair of yellow eyes. “Get out of here, kid.” 

“What?” 

The krogan waved his hand toward the marketplace. “You heard me. You don’t want to hang out with an old merc all night, and I’m not going to run into anything in the port’s most popular bar that I can’t handle. Find some trouble and tell me all about it later.” 

Miri looked toward the service elevators at the end of the street, then back to Drack. “You’re sure?” 

“Positive. Don’t start any good fights without me.” 

* * *

The elevator down to the slums creaked and groaned like it was about to fall apart, but it took her to the base of the mountain in one piece. The path outside its grated doors was slick, with water pooling in some places. A rotten smell arose from them, and when she dipped her boot in one, the rubber of her sole softened slightly. Acid. 

Tartarus was across the puddled floor of the cavern, its entrance hidden behind a maze of stairs, columns and water pipes that supported the derelict, off-ground housing that residents had thrown together. Most of it looked like it was made out of former outpost materials. There wasn’t even a proper sign for the club, but the steady thump of bass could be heard clearly enough to guide her way. 

The club itself was moderately full, red strobe lights flashing over a sprawling dance floor lined on either side by iron bars. The liquor cabinet and bartender were enclosed to the right, and a mix of go-go dancers from all races were twisting and bouncing in cages to the left. None of the cage dancers looked like they wanted to start up a conversation in the middle of their shift, so Miri made her way over to the bartender. 

“What’s your poison?” he asked in an Irish accent when she caught his attention. 

“Looking for a Reyes?” she yelled over the music. 

“Vidal?” The bartender jerked a thumb toward the ceiling. “Upstairs. Private room on the right.” 

Miri made her way through the crowd and up the stairs, dodging the arms of a handsy turian and an asari’s spilled drink as she went. Sure enough, there was a door at the top, but before she tried to access it with her omni-tool, she paused. “Anyone inside, SAM?” she asked. 

_ Two heat signatures. One matches Mr. Vidal, the other appears to be an asari.  _

Miri put her ear to the metal. “Tell her to call later,” she heard Reyes say to someone. “I’m drinking. And leave the bottle.” 

The sound of something being set down filtered through the door. Miri backed up a few steps and leaned against the wall as casually as she could, bobbing her head with the music from downstairs. An asari in a shapely black jumpsuit emerged from the room, looking slightly annoyed, but she ignored Miri completely and breezed downstairs. The door stayed open just long enough for Miri to slip inside, and it hissed closed behind her and immediately muffled the music. 

Reyes was seated in the center of a sectional couch wrapped around a reinforced table. It was clearly meant to be a private dance chamber, but he was alone, flipping through his omni-tool with a bottle of Relay Brandy in front of him. He looked up when the door closed, and immediately switched the hologram off. 

“Ryder,” he said with a surprised smile. “Glad you’re here.” 

Miri shrugged and crossed the room to stand over the table. “You invited me.” 

“I heard the job was done before the afternoon grew long, but when you didn’t show…” he leaned back into the geometric sofa and spread his arms out to rest along the back. “Still. Welcome to Tartarus. Please, sit.” 

Instead of joining him on the couch, Miri sat down on the table next to the bottle of brandy. “You thought I was going to get caught?” 

Reyes mocked offense. “I would never doubt your abilities. Besides, I got word from one of my colleagues. Vehn Terev made it off Kadara. He’s a free man, thanks to you.” 

“You helped,” Miri replied, crossing her arms. “A little.” 

He chuckled at that. “Always nice to be recognized. But I believe I owe you a drink.” 

There weren’t any extra glasses, so Miri sipped from the bottle when he handed her the brandy after pouring some into his own cup. It tasted faintly of apples and burned like a first leap through a mass relay, true to the stylized drawing on its label. Reyes watched her studying the image, head tilted slightly. “I can send for something else, if it’s not to your liking.” 

“It’s fine.” Miri took another drink and sighed before setting it down. 

“Something on your mind, Pathfinder?” 

“Lots of things.” She tapped her temple. “Sometimes literally, thanks to SAM.” 

“Ah, your AI.” Reyes nodded thoughtfully. “Never truly alone, are you?” 

“You’d _ think _ that.” Miri shook her head. “And yet…” 

She trailed off when she realized what she was about to admit and gave him an accusatory glare. “You’re good at that.” 

“Good at what?” he asked innocently. 

“Drawing information out of people.” 

He shrugged and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers. “Only if they’re already looking to share it.” 

“Useful quality in a spy,” Miri admitted. “Evfra must be thrilled with you.” 

“As thrilled as he can be with a member of an invading alien race, I suppose.” 

“How long have you worked with the Resistance?” 

“Few months. When Sloane ‘saved’ Kadara Port from the kett, Evfra wanted eyes and ears on the ground. Figured people would be more loose-lipped around their own kind.” He looked up at her with a smirk. “He was right.” 

Miri picked the bottle up again and drank deeply. “Not a big fan of Sloane, I take it?” 

His mouth twisted in distaste. “I have no open quarrel with her, but you would have to be blind not to realize that her demeanor is going to put everyone who follows her in jeopardy someday. It already has.” 

Miri nodded. “So you think she’s a hothead.” 

“She can be.” He raised an eyebrow. “Something the two of you share, apparently. A curtsy? Really?” 

Miri nearly spit out her mouthful of brandy. “You didn’t see that. You can’t have.” 

Reyes grinned. “I have my ways. The great diplomat, Pathfinder Ryder.” 

“Stop it.” Miri looked down at her knees. “I had a bad day.” 

“How many?” 

She looked up. “What?” 

“How many bad days have you had, since you took over from your father?” 

Her eyes snapped to his, looking for mischief or an attempted assessment. The fact that she found only honest curiosity there scared her more than either option, and she scrambled to her feet again. He stood up too, clearly aware that he had made a mistake. 

“That’s none of your business,” she said coldly. 

“It isn’t,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.” 

Miri turned away and straightened her jacket, heading for the door. “I’d better get going. Thanks for the drink.” 

“Miri.” 

There it was again. Her name, in the mouth of this man who’d never asked for it. 

_ Pathfinder, your heart rate is elevated and your norepinephrine and adrenaline levels have spiked. Shall I alert the Tempest to your state of distress?  _

“No,” she said out loud, turning back to face Reyes. 

He looked taken aback. “No?” 

“It’s Ryder,” she replied forcefully. “Or Pathfinder, if you’re feeling fancy. We are not on a first name-basis.” 

“Ryder.” He swallowed and held his hands up slightly. “Don’t… take this the wrong way, but… you’re not really liked here. In Kadara Port.” 

Miri rolled her head back sarcastically. “Well damn. I didn’t realize I’d entered a popularity contest.” 

He tried again. “What I’m saying is, you need a friend. Someone on the inside to help you out. I can be that guy. You need intel on Sloane, exiles, whatever, come to me.” 

“Thanks. I think. Be seeing you.” Miri turned back to the door and was through it and down the stairs before he could stop her. 

The elevator ride up to the top of the mountain was cold, but the streets were still full of spaceship crews carousing. Miri made her way back to Kralla’s Song, where Drack was leaning over the counter engaged in friendly banter with the asari bartender about long-term krogan-asari couples from the Milky Way. 

“Charr and Ereba?” The bartender shook her head. “They were never meant to last. He wanted kids, and Ereba wanted some fun that wouldn’t follow her around for more than a century.” 

“He was a good kid!” Drack protested. “Bit squishy, but a promising warrior. I bet they have a few little blue ones running around by now.” 

He smiled when Miri approached him. “Ryder! Come try this drink Umi threw together for me. It barely tickles my hump, but you might like it.” 

“It’s mostly sovak juice,” the asari admitted as she pulled up another glass and began to fill it. “Take it slow.” 

Miri took it as soon as she was done and downed it. Umi shook her head, but Drack slapped her on the back and roared with laughter. 

“That’s the spirit!” he said, clearly pleased. “You find what you were looking for out there by yourself?” 

“Hardly.” Miri slammed the glass back down with a clatter and pointed a finger at him. “You still owe me a story about the time you set yourself on fire 400 years ago.” 

The krogan happily launched into the tale, and Miri did her best to let the creeping intoxication erase the conversation she’d had earlier with Reyes. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t shake the memory of his questioning amber eyes. 


	3. Recompense

_Male angara called Taanrey De Tik reported dead in Kadara Port, outside Kralla’s Song,_ the message on the public posting board said. _Murder. No suspects as of this posting._

Reyes’ hand went to his forehead, and he ran it down over his face as he read and re-read the words on the screen. He’d heard the rumors, of course, about the stabbing outside Umi’s establishment, but here was the confirmation he’d been waiting for. 

There was a string of comments from port residents, visitors and anonymous citizens beneath, expressing sympathy, confusion or disinterest. Nothing stood out as suspicious or helpful. He sighed and closed the posting, then scrolled down to the next most recent one. It hadn’t changed. _Male krogan called Zear reported dead in the badlands, Charybdis Point. Murder. No suspects as of this posting._

Frustrated, Reyes closed the unassuming message board, which was buried under a mountain of requests for passage off Kadara, crew hiring calls and advertisements for the latest in weaponry. It was a dead-drop posting disguised as a public notice at a communal docks terminal, like all of his communications with his contacts among the Outcasts. Their anonymity was absolutely crucial for his operations, so there were no identifying markers, and any security vid recorders installed in the vicinity had a habit of mysteriously shorting out after a few days’ service. Eventually, Sloane’s people had given up installing new ones. Bad wiring, supposedly. 

As he set off toward the dock where his latest shipment was due to depart within the hour, Reyes wrestled with his decision about whether or not to intervene. Seven victims was far too high a number to be a coincidence anymore, but was still too low to warrant a full investigation by what passed as law enforcement at Kadara Port. He hadn’t even bothered to forward his suspicions about the perpetrators to Evfra. He already knew the old angara’s answer would be to leave the situation for the Outcasts to sort out. 

He found the SSK Gremlin in the shadow of the heavy cargo freighter that had drawn significant attention when it docked earlier that morning. Word on the street was that it had been diverted from Voeld and was locked up tight to prevent theft of its precious contents while some technical issues were being addressed. There were even a pair of bulky guards posted at the entrance ― a krogan with a thick frontal plate, and a human with an equally-thick neck. They both glared at him as he approached, but Reyes gave them a wink and strolled right past to the ship next door. 

His usual crew had already loaded most of the shipping containers that the freighter’s captain had been willing to part with, once Reyes had produced the replacement hardware the cargo ship was in need of. Chief mate and pilot Revathia T’Neri was thumbing through a datapad, her eyes narrowed and her cheeks purple in concentration. 

“Everything accounted for, Rev?” Reyes asked as he approached. 

The asari nodded and jerked her head back toward the loading bay. “All here. Shouldn’t be long.” 

Behind her, the Gremlin’s angaran navigator and all-around deckhand Ojin Avriad operated the cargo lift controls while shouting directions to the turian siblings, Maxiso and Milolea Epocolus. Together, they maneuvered the last crate into place. 

With a decisive nod, Rev shut the manifest and handed it over to Reyes. “Just over 2,000 cubic meters of ice. If you turn off the temperature controls on one of those and Max and Milo put it out in the sun for a bit, we could have ourselves a pretty nice swimming pool.” 

“Let’s let the krogan decide whether or not that’s a good idea,” Reyes replied with a chuckle. He glanced at the datapad before handing it back. “I’m afraid I’ve got other business to attend to this time. You’re at the helm, Rev.” 

She took the manifest back with a roll of her eyes. “Why am I not surprised? When’s the last time you went on an off-world run, anyway?” 

Milo jumped down from her perch atop the cargo. “He’s just not interested in visiting Elaaden, Rev.” 

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Max chimed in, climbing down as well and folding his arms. “Scorching temperatures, a desert that can bury you within minutes, trigger-happy scavengers and a roaming, metal worm… what’s not to like?” 

“Tell us how you _really_ feel, Max,” Rev said with a smirk. 

Ojin closed out the lift controls and looked around, confused. “Is that _not_ what he just did?” 

Reyes nodded and waved his hand around apologetically. “Duty calls. Don’t let me keep you. New Tuchanka paid for some water and it’s about time some showed up. Just make sure you don’t go anywhere near the Paradise until after you’ve dropped it off, or Annea will think we’re trying to edge in on her territory.” 

Rev pulled up her omni-tool and began typing. “I’ll get in touch with Velonia, see what she’s got for scrap. Get out of here, captain.” 

He obliged, waving goodbye to the Gremlin’s crew as he went. While he was certain they would be more than capable of making the delivery without him, a part of him wished he was free to leave Kadara Port as he had been when he first began smuggling. Nowadays, there was always something on, under or around the mountain that required his attention. 

He whistled casually as he continued down the docks past the garages. The one that had been rented out by the Tempest crew for their ND1 Nomad was open, and he slowed as he passed it. 

“You’re sure it’s good to go?” a woman’s voice asked. 

Inside the garage, a tanned man with flaming orange hair was cleaning grease off of his tool set while the blonde woman who had been guarding the garage looked the vehicle over. The ginger mechanic set his newly-shined wrench down and slapped the side of the Nomad lovingly. “Good as gold. Which reminds me, you should ask the boss again if she doesn’t want to re-paint this beast. I have some cans of paint back on the Nexus, lovely little shade called ‘Midas Touch,’ wouldn’t take but an afternoon or two.” 

The blonde chuckled. “Just tell me it’s ready for a trip out into the badlands today, Gil.” 

“‘Course.” Gil pouted and picked up another wrench. “You going with, or staying behind to guard the empty garage?” 

Before answering, the woman turned her head and scanned the area around the garage. Reyes kept walking and whistling, eyes forward until her gaze shifted and he was able to duck behind a set of crates and listen in. 

“I’m not sure,” he heard her reply. “I know she’s taking Drack, just in case she needs to cut an intimidating figure, but she seems undecided on who else to bring. It’d probably help if we knew more about this Charybdis Point, or _anywhere_ between here and there, but the only things we know to expect are the things everyone expects about Kadara: Rocks, acid pools and exiles.” 

“Well did you try asking around, Harper?” the mechanic prodded. “Chances are _someone_ on this particular rock has been out there before.” 

He didn’t catch Harper’s response, but Reyes grinned and pushed himself up off the crate he’d been leaning against. It was easy enough to circle back through the nearby alleys of the port until he was within sight of the Tempest, and he leaned up against a nearby support column to lie in wait. There were a couple of birds to be killed with one stone here, and he began compiling some rudimentary data about the location he’d overheard them mention, pulling up maps and files on his omni-tool and saving them under the title _RECOMPENSE._

It didn’t take long for the Pathfinder and her companions to emerge from the ship. While Miri Ryder may have struck him as inexperienced, she had not left the impression that she had to be coaxed into doing her job. He was counting on that character trait to aid him in his own pursuits. 

It was a sunny day in Kadara Port, and the light beat down mercilessly over the backs of the dockhands and crew members that walked its streets. It gleamed on the dark combat armor of the woman walking down the ship’s ramp, danced in the brilliant rosiness of her hair and shone along the assault rifles on her back. Just behind her marched a grizzled krogan in yellow armor accented with large bones, who Reyes presumed must be Drack, and a petite, purple-jacketed asari with a smear of black paint across her eyes. The krogan appeared to be loading his numerous shotguns while the asari twirled a Sidewinder pistol on her finger excitedly. 

Ryder herself looked more relaxed. She’d pulled off the leather jacket despite it being oversized, but she seemed like she was most at home in the trappings of a soldier. She was carrying herself a touch more confidently, her chin a fraction higher, and she walked steadily down the street toward the Nomad’s garage, past his vantage point. 

Reyes stepped forward from the column’s shadow and called out. “Ryder.” 

The tone of his voice was enough to stop her in her tracks, and so abruptly that her asari friend nearly walked into her. “Uh, earth to Ryder?” she said, putting her pistol away. “You okay there?” 

She looked annoyed as all hell, but she waved her team aside and walked over to him. “Reyes. What are you lurking around here for?” 

He dropped his eyes demurely. “Got a favor to ask of you, if you’re able. Word is you’re heading out to Charybdis Point today and might need a few tips about the area. I can tell you what I know, but there’s also something I’d like you to look for, while you’re out there.” 

“Well that depends.” She put a hand on her hip, where some blast-resistant plating was protecting the curve of her waist. She looked tired, like maybe she’d had a few too many drinks or stayed up too late watching vids. Despite the bags under her eyes, though, there was a determination in them that he had only glimpsed when she'd chided him for calling her "Miri."

“Depends on what?” he asked. 

“Does this favor involve putting my team or myself in harm’s way?” 

He nearly let her first name slip out again in his response, but he checked himself before it happened. “Ryder, please. I would never knowingly endanger friends of the Resistance. I wouldn’t ask you to look into a situation that I didn’t think you couldn’t handle. I just need someone to look around that area, and you’re already going that way.” 

Ryder’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, I’ll hear you out, and then I’ll decide. And no more prying questions, like last night.” 

Reyes held his hand up. “Of course not.” 

“Lay it on me.” 

He cocked his head to the side. “You’ve been here more than a day. I’m sure you’ve heard about the murders, here in Kadara Port?” 

She crossed her arms. “Actually, I nearly tripped over a fresh body outside Kralla’s yesterday. Some of the locals said it might be the Charlatan’s handiwork.” 

Reyes shook his head. “I don’t buy it. The Charlatan is discreet, careful. Whoever did this _wanted_ the bodies found.” 

The Pathfinder knitted her brow and nodded. “Making a statement.” 

“But to who?” Reyes raised his eyebrows and glanced around furtively. “That’s the real question.” 

“I assume you have a theory.” 

He smirked. “I do. Tell me yours, Pathfinder.” 

She looked at him suspiciously. Clearly she was worried that this was another attempt to draw something out of her, but the invitation to speculate was too much for her to resist. “The killer could be unhappy with how Sloane’s running things.” 

“Maybe, maybe.” Reyes stroked his chin thoughtfully. “But… less than a third of the victims are Outcasts. No. If I was a betting man ― and I am ― I’d say it was the Roekaar.” 

That caught her attention. “Why would Roekaar be in Kadara Port?” 

“It’s angaran-built,” Reyes explained. “And before Sloane, angaran-run. I think the Roekaar came here looking for new recruits, and things got out of hand.” 

“The victim outside Kralla’s Song _was_ angara.” Ryder shook her head. “How does that fit your theory?” 

He looked around again before taking a step closer and lowering his voice. “I did some digging. All of the deceased angara were public Milky Way sympathizers.” 

She nodded, putting the pieces together. “So the victims either were from the Milky Way…” 

“Or supported us.” He leaned back against the column again. “It’s the only pattern I could find.” 

“No, it does make sense.” She frowned. “An angaran port run by aliens would be a prime target for their cause.” 

“It would.” Reyes shrugged. “Problem is, I’ve got no proof. And the Resistance doesn’t want to antagonize the Roekaar.” 

Ryder raised an eyebrow at him. “Guessing that’s where I come in.” 

“Mmm.” Reyes nodded softly and gave her his best pleading look. “I need that fancy AI of yours to scan for evidence that could implicate the Roekaar. People are scared, Ryder. This is your opportunity to win friends in Kadara Port.” 

He thought it was a pretty good appeal, particularly for a woman whose moral code was plastered across the galaxy and who likely harbored ambitions to bring Kadara Port back into the Nexus fold. She’d openly admitted that Sloane’s ruling method of catering to the local populace was agreeable to her, the first night he’d met her. And even if she had two crew members standing idly by, shooting curious looks at them from afar, her words last night had implied she was desperately in need of friends ― or at least the illusion of friends. 

All this and more flashed in her almond-shaped eyes as he waited for her response, and then Pathfinder Miri Ryder did something he did not expect. She took a step forward, right into his personal space, and lowered her own voice. “I sound pretty integral to this plan.” 

He opened his mouth, closed it, searched her face for intent. To his surprise, he found only a cool challenge. 

_“SAM_ is integral,” he answered, almost a whisper. _“You’re_ a bonus.” 

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Hey, I haven’t agreed to help you yet.” 

Without breaking eye contact, Reyes sent the file he had prepared for her to her omni-tool. “I feel good about my chances.”

They stared at each other, sizing each other up. Finally, she stepped back, holding his gaze. 

“Here’s my operations channel,” she said, breaking eye contact to pull her omni-tool up and send out a synchronization request. “I’ll alert you when we arrive. Don’t abuse it.” 

Reyes pulled his own omni-tool up and accepted the request. “Never.”


End file.
